GEORGE. Well, what were you going to say?
HENRIETTE. You were out, and nurse had gone to mass, I think.
GEORGE. Or to have a drink. Go on.
HENRIETTE. I was in the little room, and your mother thought she was alone with Germaine. But I could hear her: she was telling baby all sorts of sweet little things—silly little things, but so sweet that I felt laughing and crying at the same moment.
GEORGE. Didn’t she call her ‘my own little Saviour’?
HENRIETTE. Why, were you listening?
GEORGE. No; but that’s what she used to call me once on a time.
HENRIETTE. It was that day she said she was sure baby had recognized her and laughed at her.
GEORGE. One day, too, I went into mother’s room here. The door was ajar, so that she didn’t hear me come in; and I found her looking at one of the little christening slippers she wanted baby to have, you know.
HENRIETTE. Oh, yes.